Poppies
by Kayo-Chann
Summary: She mostly sees poppies these days. They always settle on the edge of her vision. But once in a while, another images steals them away: the face of a man whose mischievous smile makes her heart thud eratically. Haymitch/OC
1. An Introduction into Insanity

**Poppies**

**Haymitch/OC**

**Summary: **

_These days, Elaine Greenberg lives in a clouded, sedative induced daze. She has forgotten the main parts of her life, including her time as a Tribute and her long lost love for the District 12 mentor. But when she hears about the 75th Quarter Quell, she decides to volunteer in order to join the rebel group protecting Katniss. Sure, she doesn't expect to get out of the Arena alive, or be much of a help to Katniss anyway, but there is some sort of strange, invisible force pulling her toward the Girl on Fire. Now, if only she could remember why the man in her dreams is so familiar to her..._

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

The subtle chink of metal on porcelain echoed through the room. Two spoons of sugar slipped delicately into the warm tea. A woman with long dark brown hair stared at the glandules as they disintegrated, but her eyes weren't taking in the actual reality before her.

It was often like this. These days, life rather floated along like a soft current in a pond. Hours would be filled with long periods of time just staring off into space, unmoving and hardly present. The ocean of grief that used to cloud this woman's life had been cemented over, like a painting that no body wanted to see anymore. She had lost a part of her - she couldn't exactly say what - but there was a wide, empty space residing within her that could not be filled.

She was in a lovely little world. The poppies were just blooming outside her window and she liked to watch them. The colors interested her greatly, because she used to be an artist. But that had long since past as well, and the vivid hues of cerulean blue and fuchsia and sunflower yellow became faded along with her memories.

But it was for the best, they told her. She needed to forget because the doctors told her she might go insane if she remembered. She thought she knew, in some deep area of her mind, what her past had been like. She could recall vague images of young children screaming around her, caught in a bloodbath of smeared red. She could see the dim glint of metal, the deadly edge of a knife shining radiantly in the sunlight before darkening with a union of blood.

On some strange altercation of fate, she had been the sole survivor. She had been given a beautiful house and all the paints she could ever want. But her pictures had grown steadily darker as the months passed by, and it wasn't long after that when she found out the doctors had been ordering her housekeeper to add sedatives to her drinks. She was unstable, they said. She was dangerous. After that, her paintings lost their dark quality, and then lost everything altogether.

The woman shifted her eyes open. Her head tilted sideways, towards the window with the beautiful poppies. The faded, desolate colors took her silent words away.

* * *

**Chapter One**

**An Introduction into Insanity**

* * *

Life hasn't been a solid concept for years. But there is one thing I can fathom, and that is death. Death is just a departure, after all. Another thing I realize is that Katniss Everdeen cannot succumb to death. That is why I volunteer as Tribute. I will not be a threat to her in my state, and that will help everyone. Also, death does not frighten me. The doctors say I've been dead for years now, so how can I be afraid of something I already possess?

I'm not sure how exactly I got here, because my memory is fuzzy and all I recall seeing is lines of off white walls without any windows. The walk here is short, though, because I already live in the capitol and my sense of time is skewed anyway. Somehow, in some gap of space that isn't really there, I must have entered the room and sat down, because now I'm a part of a very strange group of people.

Perhaps 'strange' isn't a good word to describe us. Most of them look sane, especially the dark, brooding one from 7. Even the male 4 looks normal. I'm sure that I'm the only one who looks clouded, but I can't really help that because they gave me an extra dose of sedatives this morning, and I know because the world is more muddled than usual.

"We are here," a voice jars through me, and I find myself looking over to the speaker, a man I classify as Seneca Crane's predecessor. The hushed babble of the room lowers as everyone turns their heads to look at him. "We are here," he continues, "to be witnesses of the Quarter Quell. Our purpose is to keep the Mockingjay alive."

Alive, I think, I much better than dead. Though there are little things I know these days, I can understand that Katniss is the face of the rebel movement and in need or protection. I listen closely.

"These Games will be different than any other because you will all be working together. As Victors, all of you know the hardships of the Arena. Please remember that even though you are a web of allies, there are still some who we have deemed untrustworthy and are not part of this alliance."

Oh, there are poppies just outside the window! How ironic, I think, that the colors are nearly as bright as they are at home. I turn my full attention to them, catching bits and pieces of Plutarch's words. _Signals…bread….three days…..Mockingjay.._ But my world has already folded again, and soon, all I can do is sit there and try to remember why, and how to breath, and who I am, and why I have all these strange, vivid memories of death and decay and violence. And who is the Mockingjay again? The morphling has set in.

* * *

I like chariots because they sort of feel like you're flying when you ride one. Apparently, I'm the only one who thinks this though. The male tribute from District 6 doesn't seem to have an opinion. In fact, he looks even more airy than I do, which is strange because upon coming here the Avox girl has been increasing my morphling during the nighttime.

They dress me up in a mauve gown that has obvious black and gray stitching on the corset. I'm not sure how this symbolizes District 6, the transportation district, but I don't complain because I quite like the way the silken fabric swishes when I walk. By the time I step onto the chariot, I am enamored by the uplifted feeling coursing through my veins. My hair, which is put into an intricate braid and wrapped up in a bun, makes me look elegant and lovely, even though I'm well into my thirties and should probably feel hatred towards the capitol for bringing the Victors back into the picture.

The crowd goes absolutely wild by the time the first chariot beings the procession. They are screaming, shouting praises and gratification. My heart pounds in my chest and I wonder if any of them will cheer for _me_, because I don't think I would. But they are yelling for Mags, who is old and wrinkled in her District 4 chariot. So when District 6 begins to roll, I am pleasantly surprised to hear that the noise has not decreased in volume.

I tilt my head back and smile dreamily, seeing the colors whirl by. The seats are very, very colorful because the capitol fashion is so vivid. The flashes of yellow and red and blue makes my head spin because for a moment, all I sees is poppies, floating along my line of vision.

And then, everything stops, and the poppies morph back into clothing and makeup and I'm suddenly facing President Snow as he sits in his chair and waits for the remaining tributes.

Before my mind can fade again, the noise randomly increases. It's not random, though, because it's District 12's Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, star-crossed lovers and adored tributes. I turn my head to watch them ride up, noting that they are situated in the center of the line while I am at the edge.

I think she's pretty. They're hands are clasped and they look like a team, which makes me smile. I like the color of her hair, which is tied up in a wild sort of hairstyle. I like the shade of her eyes, too. I wish I could paint them, but I haven't lifted a brush in years.

I'm so out of it that I barely notice that I've caught her attention with my staring. She's looking directly at me, which startles me in a way that I cannot describe. The corner of my mouth tilts up into an honestly friendly smile but she doesn't return it, and I can't really blame her.

A strange memory shifts into my head and further catches me off guard. It is blurry and unfocused, centering around a lovely shade of blonde and a pair of mischievous eyes that wrinkle when they smile. For a moment, the glimmer of a name echoes through my mind, but it is gone before I can grasp it and I cannot remember whose face I had been seeing.

But I swear I recall that it has something to do with District 12: a person who meant a lot at one point but I haven't seen for ages. I flounder, and tip back into the present. Katniss is still staring at me in curiosity. I gently look away.

* * *

I'm vaguely aware of the passage of time. Later on they dress me up again in a dress that shows off my figure. It makes me feel uncomfortable, like a forest without leaves or a song without a beat. The waist clings to me and the neckline is plunging. But at least the color is a fine shade of turquoise.

When the stylists have finished putting my hair up into a pretty, sweeping updo, I'm told to go stand in the line. But I've done this before, and I float over there before they're even finished speaking. I'm not sure why, exactly, but I feel that this moment is important, and it has nothing to do with the sponsors.

Each person has an angle. The Career districts are haughty and arrogant. District 4 is charming. As for District 6, I'm sure I've forgotten what angle I'm supposed to be playing anyway. But people have told me that I have a natural sort of grace that mystifies people, so I guess I'll be mysterious.

Finally, I hear 'Elaine Greenberg, from District 6!' and I know it's my turn. So I lift up the dragging skirts of my risqué dress and stride out onto the stage. My heart is pounding in my chest, and my palms are sweaty, but my nervousness doesn't show on my face because I've forgotten how to move my features in such a way.

Caesar Flickerman grins when he sees me, jolts into a standing position, and reaches immediately for my hand. I surrender it willingly and give him a breezy, only half-there smile as he tells me to have a seat. My dress crumples delicately as I do so.

"My dear Miss Elaine - may I call you that? - you are the image of beauty this night!" the crowd roars in agreement and I try to look humbly unconvinced.

He laughs and then a serious glint forms in his eyes, "Miss Elaine, I wonder if you might answer a few of my questions? I first would like to know why you volunteered."

My head tilts a little as though thinking, but the answer is already at the tip of my tongue. With a smile that is more edgy than graceful, I respond, "It's the adventure of it all, Mr. Flickerman. I'm a fool for adventure."

My answer makes him surprised, but in a pleased manner. He turns to the audience and says, "Well! We learn something new about our beloved Victors every day, don't we?" Again, the crowd roars with acknowledgement.

Caesar reaches for my hand again, and my small fingers fit his neatly. His next question is more serious than I would have liked. "Now Elaine, we have heard rumors about you, you know. About how you hardly remember anything from your days in the Arena? Is this true?"

I open my mouth and close it again. My face contorts into what is probably confusion, because I'm trying to remember, really I am, but as usual I can only grasp onto fleeting images before I'm lost. Haltingly, I murmur, "I can…recall…vague images." And I refuse to go on, because I feel rather ashamed that I don't even know who I am anymore.

Caesar lets it go and simply nods in a sympathetic sort of way. He catches my eye and gives me a small smile. "You live in the capitol now, don't you? There wasn't much of a transition for you in coming here then."

I nod my head and turn to the audience, giving them a soft smile, "I've grown quite used to life here. I'm afraid the Arena will most likely be the last thing I know."

The audience murmurs their disagreements and Caesar shakes his head, "Oh, no! I'm sure that won't be true. In your first Games you were most brave, and you can't lose something like courage."

But I just smile and nod. I don't care anymore. I'm floating again, high above the seats of these Capitol folk, higher than the folds of the clouds and the shift of the atmosphere. Before I'm gone, however, Caesar manages one last question. "Why do you want to come out a Victor, Miss Elaine?"

I glance at him, lips trembling into a transient smile, and tilt my head back as I lose my grasp on the world. With a sweet chortle, I say, "But I don't, Caesar. I don't intend on staying alive at all!" And I laugh once more, even though everyone else is silent, because I'm flying even higher now and I've started seeing poppies cloud my vision.

* * *

**Later that night, in District 12's quarters**

* * *

Katniss has seen all sorts of insane people. In the Hob, they are all over the place. But the Seam is full of insanity of another sort: the kind you get from starvation, and abandonment. This brand of insanity is something she has never seen before, and it frightens her a bit.

They are watching the interview reruns on the TV, trying to gauge out their competition. She thinks she should worry about Finnick Odair from 4 and most definitely the Careers. But not this woman. She doesn't feel a shred of anxiety viewing this woman, except perhaps the anxiety that she is unstable.

Peeta glances at their mentor, who is sitting beside them on the couch and staring at the woman with a strange glint in his eye. His nails are digging into his palms because Peeta had forced him to swear he wouldn't touch alcohol until their Games were over. But the wild way his features are arranged, almost as though he is in pain, has little to do with the lack of spirits and more to do with the current interview.

"Do you know her?" Peeta wonders, eyeing Haymitch with a knowing look. Because there's no way his mentor can hid the fact that he is familiar with Elaine Greenberg. It's too obvious in the way he is staring at her.

Haymitch glances at him, immediately trying to look nonchalant and uncaring. He gives Peeta a glare and scowls, "Used to. Now shut up."

But his reluctant answer makes Katniss curious. She's been interested in this woman since she caught her staring at her during the chariot rides, and wants to know more. "How do you know her?"

Effie Trinket seems interested in the answer to this as well, and leans forward to hear Haymitch. But he doesn't answer, because he's now watching the woman tilt her head back and laugh. There's a spark of warmth in his gaze that reminds Peeta of his own emotions for Katniss. In this moment, he realizes something that Katniss and Effie are still both in the dark about.

Peeta leans forward and softly wonders, "…What's she like?" Because this, of all things, is something that Haymitch knows about.

The mentor turns to look at him, a haunted sort of look dwelling on his face, and answers, "…Most Victors have something wrong with them. She takes it to a new level." Peeta decides that he wants this Elaine Greenberg as an ally.

* * *

**This is just gonna be a new idea I'm playing around with. I think Haymitch needs some love ^o^ Please feel free to review~ **


	2. To Form a Friendship

**Poppies**

* * *

**Chapter Two **

**To Form a Friendship**

* * *

It's been a while since I had grasped a weapon, and I feel rather hesitant in doing so. I stare at it for a long minute, trying to remember how to move it in my hand, but the muscles don't comply and it clatters to the floor.

Knives used to be my specialty, or at least I'm nearly sure they were. I try to remember how I won the Games, but all I can recall is a short flash of memory. So I put the knife down and drift away to do something else, because all these silly flashbacks are giving me a headache.

I'm in my own little world at the edible plants station. I love plants, especially vividly colored ones, and the greenery calms me. My fingers brush over the tips of some ferns and I feel a soft smile spread over my face. Lovely, I think, even though they are poisonous.

I stay there for most of the day, even though I'm already extremely knowledgeable about which plants are edible and which are not. It seems that this information has not left me, but has rather remained current and unfaltering. I can label each of the deadly ones with an accuracy that seems to surprise the man running the station. Soon, he has gotten out a thick book and is having me label the plants in the images.

I don't know I have company until a voice sounds at my right. It is Katniss Everdeen, and she is alone. I give her a silent smile and turn back to the plants, because I don't really know how to be sociable and I don't want to. She isn't insulted at all.

"You know a lot about plants," she comments, leaning in to touch the poisonous fern. She seems to be waiting for an answer, so I nod and say in a dreamy voice, "Oh yes. In District 6 they teach us at a young age about poison and such things. That's why morphling is so common there." I tilt my head and glance at her, admiring her strong profile.

She looks at her as well, and for the first time, gives me a smile. I find myself happy at her acceptance and begin to teach her a little about the poisonous plants. She listens with rapt attention and my admiration for her grows. If I have to give up my life to anyone, it is her.

"Are you nervous about going back into the Arena?" she suddenly asks me a few minutes later. She isn't looking at me now, but her eyes are instead fixated to a plant with lightly flowering buds.

I wonder at her for a long minute, trying to grasp onto her question and come up with a response. I don't really remember what 'nervous' feels like, so I'm unsure as to what to say. With a soft hum, I answer, "…Why should I be nervous of death? I have been dead before. I will open my arms to it and embrace it."

My cryptic response seems to surprise her, and she stares at me with a profound expression. I give her a breezy smile and we share a lingering, peaceful silence. It is broken only when Katniss' district partner, Peeta, comes over.

Before he even speaks, I decide that I like him. There's something gentle about him, and honest. When he speaks, his voice reflects this. "Katniss, it's almost time to eat. Will you be having lunch with us, Miss Greenberg?" I'm surprised that he knows my name.

Katniss turns to me expectantly, and I know I'm supposed to say yes. So I just nod and stand up, brushing off the dirt from my pants and following them to the food tables. Once there, I take a small amount of food because I'm not really hungry, and I go off to find a seat. Katniss and Peeta join me.

"So…you live in the capitol, Miss - " I cut Peeta off, because a chortle slides up my throat.

"Please call me Elaine," I say, and laugh again. "I used to live in District 6, but the doctors said I'd be better medicated here in the capitol." This seems to confuse Katniss, and so I go on to explain, "The morphling, you see. I can't live without it or I start to remember things. Things the doctors say I shouldn't." My explanation is perfectly natural for me to disclose, and their reaction is perfectly natural as well. They look shocked, and a little outrageous. Most people do.

"So that's why you don't remember your time in the Arena? Why would you want that?" Peeta asks, furrowing his brow in an attempt to understand.

I merely smile at them and respond lightly, "There are some wounds that can never be healed. You will understand that when all this is over." The war, the rebellion. If they live after that, I'd be very much surprised if nightmares didn't haunt their waking hours.

I used to have waking nightmares as well, but that was before the doctors prescribed a daily dose of sedatives. When I started taking them, I didn't have the nightmares anymore. In fact, I didn't really have anything anymore. But it didn't make me sad because I couldn't remember why I _should_ be sad.

A lethargic silence sets in as we eat, but its hard for me to concentrate because there's something tugging at me, like some kind of reminder. I end up pushing my food around on my plate while I try to recall what it is my mind is telling me. It has something to do with Katniss and Peeta, and District 12, and the Games. My features must have rearranged into confusion, because Peeta asks if I'm alright.

I tell him that I'm fine, and that he shouldn't worry, but my reassurance doesn't seem to help and he keeps looking at me with concern.

"I was wondering…" Katniss begins, and I see Peeta shoot her a look that says he knows what she's going to be asking. "Our mentor says he knows you from somewhere, though he won't say where. I wanted to know if you remember him."

I study her face, feeling strange for some reason. When I ask who she means, I'm rewarded with a name that strikes me somewhere deep inside me. But though it's familiar, I'm left gasping and lost, because it doesn't seem to have the meaning I know it contains and it frightens me.

"…Haymitch…Abernathy?" my nose scrunches up as I think, and I haven't thought so hard in my life. I repeat the name again. It feels strange on my tongue, but not in an unpleasant way. Chills shiver up and down my spine and curl around my neck. "I'm not…I don't know…" I feel frustrated tears build up in my eyes and hurriedly blink them away. Shame twirls around me. I know this man, but I can't remember his face or what he means to me or why I'm crying over him. "I can't _remember_," I choke out, feeling desperate in a way I never have_. "I can't remember…"_

The disappointed silence that follows makes me want to bury my head in my arms and cry.

* * *

The next two days of training pass by in a blur. Finally, on the third day, it's time to perform before the judges. I've ceased caring about how many sponsors I'll get because I don't intend on living past the first few days anyway, and I can surely survive on my own if I can get past the bloodbath. So instead of worrying, I just calmly take my seat and wait my turn.

When my name is called, I drift into the room to find the judges sitting patiently in their chairs. I give them a transient smile and walk over to the knife rack. I pick a medium sized one, with a small handle and a sharp edge. It has a curling design on the hilt and is ultimately the reason I chose it. It looks pretty.

I walk slowly towards the target and study it, twisting the knife in my hands. These days, I only use knives to cook, because the capitol food is too filling for me and because the doctors say I should do something to keep me busy. I haven't thrown a knife in years and I feel as though I've forgotten how to. But as I retreat into myself and close my eyes, I start feeling much more calm. My hand lifts up and I peer out of my half-lidded eyes. Without thinking, I dart my arm forward and release the knife. There's a moment of silence before a dull thud reaches my ears, and I see the hilt of the knife jutting out of the target, a little skewed but remarkably in place.

The surprise I'm feeling doesn't show on my face, but there are impressed murmurs shifting through the judges table. I think I should feel prideful, but all I can feel is disgust that I haven't forgotten something as innate as weaponry. Surely, if I had to forget something, I would rather it be this.

I turn on my heel, nod to the judges, and walk haltingly out of the room feeling less vulnerable than normal.

At the end of the day, when everything is said and done and I'm staring at my face on the screen with the number 8 beside it, I can't help but ask for an extra dose of morphling. Because I'm beginning to feel like I did once, a long time ago when I was consumed by the desire to be a killer in order to keep my life. The concept of life is getting a little more solid.

* * *

**Haymitch's POV, District 12 floor**

* * *

The night is curtained by a thick veil. Outside the window, there is the tiny wisp of moonlight that can hardly be seen. It illuminates the room with an eerie sort of light that is reminiscent of Haymitch's own house. But rather than comfort him with the familiarity, it only makes him further unsettled.

He is laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. His eyes are fixated but he isn't really there, in his room. Instead, he is sitting in the Control Room seven years ago watching a Games that nearly ruins him. In the end, when they ship her off to District 6 and then the Capitol, it actually does.

He hasn't seen her in years, but he's known about her. He follows her story when he can, because he can't help but try to keep in touch with what little of her he now possesses. It hurts to do so, but it would hurt more to cut her off entirely. Now, he wishes he had, because his heart is practically burning with contempt for himself, and the capitol, and the chemical that creates a wall between him and her.

He knows she doesn't remember him, because when Katniss and Peeta returned from their first day of training they were speaking of her during dinner, and he couldn't help but listen in. She doesn't remember anything now. It's as though she is split up in many different ways. A piece of her is in District 6, a piece in the capitol, and in the Arena. And a small part of her is in him, but she has lost her grasp on it and doesn't know.

Haymitch sighs: a deep, wallowing sound. Perhaps it would have been better if he had gone into the Arena. Then, he might be able to protect her rather than just watch. Surely she won't make it out alive. She won her first Games with an unexpected amount of luck. Besides, his first priority will always be to get Katniss out first.

He wonders if their love will ever be rekindled. She's all he is anymore, even though he hasn't seen her in eight years. She's all he ever was, and ever will be, because she understands him in a way no one else has. She knows what it's like to feel hunger, and doubt, and has shared a passion with him that has left him utterly bereft and yet completely fulfilled. So in the silence of the covered night, Haymitch does something he hasn't since before his Games: he prays.

"Come back to me," he breathes, and as he drifts off to sleep, he swears he hears her respond. _'I will. I promise.' _Before all is quiet.

* * *

**Hi! First of all, thanks so much for the review, A Lovely Latte~ I'm glad you like the story thus far and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint :D**

**Anyway, feel free to review on your way out~!**


	3. 60 Seconds

**Poppies**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**60 Seconds**

* * *

The outfits they dress me in for the Games are strange, at best. They are very slim and form-fitting, almost like a bathing suit, and there is a large purple belt that goes around my waist. I look at myself in the mirror and wonder at the odd fabric. When I pinch it experimentally, it just ghosts right back into place as though it had never been touched at all.

From the lightness of the outfit I know that the Arena will be hot. I hope it isn't a desert, because then I have no idea what I'd do to survive the first day. But it turns out that all my worries are silly, because when I'm finally lifted up in the cylinder, the Arena is just the opposite of a desert.

I spend my 60 seconds looking around. I want to pretend that I'm actually formulating some sort of master plan, but I'm just looking. I feel as though I'm watching my life from a TV screen back in the capitol apartment that I've called my own for years. I'm not really in the Arena, but rather glued to my couch, viewing the delicate poppies that can be seen from the window box eight stories up.

But then, my little world is shattered and all at once, I'm floundering into the water. Reality sets in - cold and nauseating - and all I can do is keep my head above the water as I drift toward the Cornucopia. I can't really swim, but I can do a weird sort of doggy paddle that I've developed from the deep set bathtub that had been in my Victor house, when I still lived in District 6.

I'm halfway there when I see Finnick Odair hauling himself onto the little island and rushing toward the cornucopia. I stall, wondering if maybe I'm going in the wrong direction. Will I be killed the moment I get there? In my first Games, I seem to remember running in the exact opposite direction…

But I absolutely have to face my fears and get myself to the island. I'll be no help at all if I've got no weapon to speak of, and the reason I'm here is to assist Katniss Everdeen.

I'm almost there when my world shifts again, and I'm suddenly being shoved under the waves by a strong grip. The salt water invades my eyes and I squeeze them shut. They're still tightly closed when I struggle up for air, and all I can hear is an annoyed grunt and the same hand trying to shove me back down.

I begin to kick haphazardly, trying to free myself. Somehow, I manage to punch my captor in the face without sinking into the water, and he retracts his grip from me to cradle his new wound. Seeing my chance for escape, I hurtle my body away until I can stand in the water, and then I'm running, feet pounding into the hot sand as I push myself toward the pile of weapons.

I'm about to reach out for a long, sharp looking knife when someone clears their throat, and I look up into the eyes of Finnick Odair as he stands casually beside Katniss Everdeen. I have a feeling Finnick doesn't trust me, even though we've attended those meetings that centered around saving Katniss. I can't really blame him. After all, I'm unstable and insane. What would my death do to anyone? Still, I pick up the knife and stare boldly into his face, as though silently daring him to fight me. I think we both know he would win, but it seems that my rare act of insightfulness catches him off guard.

"A knife, hmm?" Finnick wonders, eyeing the blade in my hand.

I give him a shrug, darting my gaze from the point of my weapon to his face, "Well, it's how I got my 8 in Training, so I guess I'm pretty good with them."

It would make sense for us to form an alliance. After all, Finnick and I both know what's going on in the Arena during the next 3 days. Well, Finnick probably knows more about it, since my memory's a bit hazy, but that's besides the point.

Katniss, it seems, makes the ultimate decision. She reaches out to shake my hand, silently looking at me, and then everything is finalized when Finnick gestures over to Peeta, who is still standing on his pedestal and can't seem to swim.

The two argue briefly before Finnick jumps into the water and swims over to where the blonde is standing. But Katniss, it seems, is still on edge during the entire time. I break the tension by softly saying, "Don't worry about Finnick. He's alright." And somehow, though I know she doesn't completely understand me, Katniss loosens up a bit.

When we're all assembled and walking toward what has to be the end of the Arena, I look around and wonder at how strange our alliances are. It's all I can do to hope that our mission will be beneficial to somebody, because I highly doubt I'll make it out alive.

It's later that night. The sky is outlined with the crest of the Capitol and the anthem is beginning to play. Mags managed to weave bowls out of the tall grasses that we've come across, and she's also found edible nuts we've been busily snacking on. The old woman has been more helpful than any of us would have thought, and after the events of the day, it's a welcoming thing.

I finally realized just how much Katniss feels for Peeta. It's not just some shallow feeling, or some desperate attempt at clinging to some string of comfort, but rather a deep set and genuine love. She may not realize it yet, but it's there, lurking in her eyes every time she looks at him.

We set up camp after the discovery of water, which Katniss gets using something she calls a 'spile' sent from her district mentor. A man called Haymitch. When I hear her mumble his name under her breath, I can feel a deep memory boil up in my mind. But it's washed away a moment later by intense shivers as they catch me, and I'm sent rocking back and forth as I fold my arms around me.

I'm not cold. I'm not even scared. I just feel…strange. Like I'm not superman anymore. My heartbeat is increasing and I feel thirsty even though I just drank. Luckily, no one really notices except Peeta, but he's kind enough not to say anything because I think we both know what's going on, and he doesn't want to embarrass me. I haven't taken a morphling shot since this morning. I've never gone a full 12 hours without one before.

We bunker down silently, all brooding in some way over the Tributes that have fallen in the bloodbath. I'm brooding about other things, though, and when I curl up into a tight ball and try to ignore the effects of what will become an intense withdrawal, it's all I can do to get some sleep. I drift in and out of reality, always on the edge, and wake up at the smallest sound. When it's my turn to take watch, I do so with gratification because at least I don't have to pretend that nothings wrong now.

So I sit at the front of the tent, wrap my arms around my knees, and whisper little things to myself. I can't see the poppies anymore, but the jungle is filled with lovely colors and they remind me of my painting. I dip my fingers into the dirt beside my feet and swirl it in circles on the back of my hand, silently marveling at the shades it exhibits.

All is well for most of my shift, but then at the very end, when I'm about to wake up Finnick, I start seeing a strange looking cloud coming toward us.

It's odd because for a moment, I think I'm hallucinating. Has my morphling addiction really gotten so bad that I can't even go a full day without seeing things? I'm frightened, a little bit, so I shake Finnick awake because it's his shift anyway, and point at the wall descending upon us. By the widening of Finnick's eyes, I know this is real. This is danger.

Finnick starts alerting the others in a loud voice. I push Katniss awake, jolting her from a dream before moving on to Mags. When we're all assembled, we do the only thing we can: run. The invisible enemy drifts toward us at a scary speed, enveloping us in tendrils of mist.

I don't know how it's dangerous yet, but there's something ominous about it and I don't want to stick around for long. It's a good thing we don't, because soon, Katniss is yelling at how it's sinking into her skin. Soon afterwards we all start to feel the effects.

My eyes shift in and out of the world. I'm focusing on the most random things, like how mystical the forest looks as we run through it, and how beautiful the mist is as it curls around my wrist. My imminent death doesn't take precedence in my mind.

We lose Mags to the mist because Finnick takes Peeta onto his shoulders and puts Mags down. The old woman isn't frightened at all as she runs to her death. In fact, she's laughing. I think that if I die - when I die - I want to go like that, without a care in the world.

We collapse on the beach gasping for breath and wondering what just happened. Or at least I'm wondering that. All I can do is bury my fingers into the sand and try to grasp onto what has to be reality. I tilt my head to the sky and stare up at the clouds, chest heaving. I'm half aware that I can hardly move my legs and arms, and the rest of me is slowly becoming numb as well. In fact, this doesn't register in my mind at all.

It takes Katniss to drag me to the water. At first, I don't know what she's doing, but I let her put my feet in anyway because it feels nice. Well, until the poison begins to get drawn out. Then, my face is bared in excruciating pain and I feel myself whimper. The pain intensifies with every handful of salt water Katniss and Peeta administer onto me. When I can move my arms, I assist them, patting my face and neck as my skin curls with the remnants of mist.

I think I fall asleep laying like that, skin burning, but I can't be sure because my world has been fuzzy since that afternoon, and nothing feels real anymore.

* * *

**So it was short, but I just wanted to update because it's been a while and I felt bad D: Not that anyone reads this anyway... imma go cry now**

**No but really. I just outlined the Arena Arc so I know what I'm doing now. Updates will be a little more regular, hopefully. I'm on summer break now so I'm thinking I'll be a little more inspired to something with this fic. Signing off now cause I want sleep~**


	4. Johanna's Vindication

**Poppies**

* * *

**Chapter 4 **

** Johanna's Vindication**

* * *

I wake up to Finnick, who is shaking me because apparently, Katniss got medicine from the Sponsors that will heal our burns. When I open my eyes and look at the darkened face of the previously handsome boy from district 4, I smile. He looks so ridiculous that he doesn't resemble himself at all. I'm immediately struck with an innate desire to paint, so I sit up and dawdle over to Katniss, who is smearing herself with the medicine.

"It didn't work," Finnick frowns, coming over to us. I look at him curiously and he says, "I was supposed you scare you with my face."

A chortle works its way up my throat. "Finnick, darling, you don't need to try so hard to accomplish that." And beside me, Katniss cracks a smile.

In the end, they decide to frighten Peeta, who is still sleeping a few feet away. I watch silently, and smile at his reaction because it's so much more emotional than mine was. But then, I begin to lose myself in the cool quality the medicine has against my skin, and my fingers twirl little images over my sun kissed arms.

Peeta moves over to where I'm sitting and watches me curiously as he applies his own medicine. "Are those poppies?" he wonders, inching closer to look at the flowers.

I look up, surprise flitting over my face at his knowledge. He sees my expression and smile a little, "I like to paint too. My mom keeps a garden outside the Bakery we run. There are poppies in it that I paint sometimes."

His explanation makes me smile warmly. I tell him in a soft voice, "…Poppies…they're my favorite flower. I grow them outside, in my window box."

He nods, looking at me now with a strange, almost knowing expression. "You said you live in the capitol, right? You must have had another reason to move there besides what the doctors said."

I stop swirling. I'm staring hard at the design I drew on my skin, trying to remember the answer to his question. Why _did_ I move there? It wasn't because I _wanted_ to, that's for sure. No…there was something else that prompted me. The doctors did, for sure, but was there another reason? Something threatening, something heartbreaking. Something that made me want to forget about everything because the pain was so bad…something that made me see only the fresh looking poppies outside the window…

Peeta must have seen the confusion in my eyes, because he says no more on the subject. He watches me stand up, suddenly stiff and uncomfortable and shaking again, and we don't talk again for the rest of the day.

* * *

It's near noon when something actually happens. I'm sitting off to the side, enjoying the feel of the water lapping over my hand, when a few beaches down, three figures stumble out of the forest. Immediately, Katniss is on her feet, loading an arrow and narrowing her eyes on the newcomers.

"Who is that?" asks Peeta. "Or what? Muttations?" Because they are covered in some reddish stain and they don't look particularly human.

But then, Finnick is suddenly grinning like an idiot and calling out, "Johanna!" before taking off towards the creatures.

I shimmy to my feet, squinting at the strange 'reunion'. When Katniss grouchily agrees to go see what's up, we all begin our trek across the beach. Johanna Mason, from district 7, is not exactly someone who gets along with most people. I've met her before and didn't like her very much, but I suppose she's the type that grows on you. I can see that Katniss isn't too happy about the encounter either, but she brightens up as soon as she sees Beetee and Wiress, who look a little worse for wear.

In fact, I'd be willing to way that Wiress is getting even more insane than me. I watch her with slightly guarded eyes as she walks in circles, muttering 'Tick, tock' to herself every few seconds. When she careens into Johanna, the tough tribute shoves her away with a scowl and Katniss immediately jumps in, "Lay off her."

And Johanna's reaction is absolutely furious as she slaps Katniss. It takes Finnick to haul her over his shoulder and dump her in the water to shut her up, which is good because I don't much like such loud noises.

We drag Wiress and Beetee to the water as well and begin the tedious process of washing off the thick blood. I focus on Wiress, gently scrubbing her clean. After Katniss is finished with Beetee, she comes to help me. Together, we manage to get all the blood off of her, but we can do nothing to fix the fear diluting her eyes. When we're back on the beach, I try soothing her, but it still doesn't do much except make her calm down the tiniest bit.

By now, the sun is setting and Finnick is bunkering down for sleep. Wiress has taken sanctuary in my lap and I'm running my fingers through her hair. Beside me, Katniss and Johanna are discussing how 'Haymitch' said that if Johanna brought Nuts and Volts, Katniss would accept her as an ally. The name stirred inside me, burning against my mind, but just as I was beginning to get a grip on its meaning, Johanna's sharp voice cuts across.

"It's fitting, isn't it? Having the two insane tributes together like this," and she gives me an eyeful of such hatred that it inwardly shocks me.

I haven't done anything to her to make her dislike me, but it seems not to matter. I stare back at her unfalteringly, shifting my eyes into hers, and give her a soft smile that seems to catch her off guard. My silence, it seems, makes her annoyed, because she gets up a moment later to walk over to Finnick and lay down for sleep. Then, it's just Katniss and me.

"…Katniss…?" she looks at me, but I keep my eyes resolutely forward. "Who is…Haymitch?" Because the name is still bubbling up within me and its bothering me.

She stares at me for a long moment, slightly surprised that I would ask. The cameras are probably on us, but I don't care and neither does she. "Our mentor. He's our mentor. Do you remember him now?"

Her question makes me falter, because it implies that I used to remember him, once long ago. I jerk my eyes to hers, confusion blatant in them, but for a moment I don't see her. Instead, I see a vivid image of another girl, blood streaming down her face from a head wound…angry, insane grin curling over raw lips. I don't realize I'm shaking until Katniss' hand grips my arm, and then I'm back on the beach in the Arena.

I swallow thickly, closing my eyes. "I'm starting to…see things. Things that I almost remember…horrible, bloody things." And then, in a fit of fright, I wonder, "Am I really insane?"

She stares at me and slides her hand down to grasp mine. In her strong grip, I'm not shaking so much. It makes me feel a little better.

"Is it the morphling?" she asks, and I feel tears well up in my eyes because it _is_ the morphling, and its so pathetic that something so insubstantial is ruling my life.

I don't answer her and she takes my silence for confirmation. We don't speak again for a long while. The night air pushes past us, tangling itself in our hair and whispering secrets in our ears. It's so silent that I begin to wonder if the moment is real or if I've fallen asleep. But then, Katniss is suddenly standing up, a wild, searching look in her eyes. She's spinning around, looking at every beach and murmuring, "Tick, tock…tick, tock…"

I'm beginning to think that Wiress' insanity is contagious, until Katniss finishes her train of thought.

"Tick, tock…it's a clock…"

And I have a feeling we're a lot closer to home than we'd been five minutes before.

* * *

**The Capitol, Haymitch**

* * *

The Control Room is silent, because it is nearly empty. There are a few mentors lingering about on the other side of the room, but other than that, Haymitch is alone. Alone, with his arms around a bottle of gin.

He's not drunk. He vowed that he'd stay sober. But he never said he wouldn't drink at all, and that's why his head is muddled and tipsy.

He can't stand this. It wasn't so bad when he knew Elaine was at the Capitol, cooped up in her apartment. It wasn't this bad then, even though he knew she couldn't remember, because he didn't have to see her. He didn't have to witness her struggling with reality.

But this…seeing how she is without morphling, and knowing that it's always going to be like this even if she does survive the Quarter Quell, and even that's too much to hope for. This is killing him.

He wants to reach out to her, touch her hand, hold her, do everything uncharacteristic of what he's become. He hasn't always been a drunken old man, bitter with hate. He used to be innocent, even after his Games, because he had someone to be innocent with.

He stares at her face, highlighted on the screen as she shakes on the beach that's so close, and yet so far away. Her eyes are wild and unsure, just as they always are when she faces uncertainty. He knows what to do to calm her down. He knows everything about her. He knows that if she dies in the Arena, it will be better for everyone…except him.

Because he'll always struggle with the desire to be with her. He'll always want to have what he had so many years ago. And she'll never remember, not properly, because the Capitol took that away from them both and it doesn't plan on returning it.

Haymitch tips his head back, pressing the mouth of the bottle to his lips and wishing that it was the mouth of someone else.

* * *

**Hi~ So here's another chapter for you guys. And uh yeah I'd appreciate it if someone reviewed so I'm not talking to myself like a crazy person... **

**What'dya think of the chapter? Anything you dislike so I can fix it? Let me know!**


	5. Discoveries

**Poppies**

* * *

**Chapter 5 **

**Discoveries**

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Katniss' discovery prompts her to wake everyone up. She explains everything to them - about how the Arena is divided into various sections, and each part contains a danger that is triggered by the hour. Johanna is the only one who seems not to believe her, but eventually even she agrees that we should move, if only to be as safe as possible.

When Wiress wakes up to find that Katniss understands her cryptic message, blatant relief floods her face. Finnick hands her a bowl of water and a bit of bread, and she gulps down both.

We decide to head over to the Cornucopia, because Finnick wants to make sure Katniss' clock idea is right. Since we have no where else to go and the center of the Arena is close by, we begin our trek across the beach.

I find a seat beside Beetee in the shade and watch as Johanna and Katniss dawdle around the leftover pile of weapons in the mouth of the cornucopia. I think about going there myself, but I'd feel strange carrying anything other than the sharp knife I'd picked up at the start of the Games. Plus, I don't know for sure if I can wield anything else. So I end up just sitting there, staring off into the distance, telling myself that the strange shifts of my vision are the hallucinations and nothing more.

I'm lost in my own little world until Beetee moves suddenly beside me. Then, I'm looking over at Katniss, who is loading an arrow and staring at a dripping wet Gloss, who has just slit Wiress' throat. For a moment, all I can do is stare. The horrifying sight of blood throws me back into another memory, and all I can see is bodies, grotesquely shaped with their mouths gaping open and their limbs twisted awkwardly. Did I do that? Did I kill all those people? Because the knife at my side is all bloody and there's no one else around.

And then, like I've traveled back to the present but regained something I had lost, I'm drawing my knife and twisting it in my hands, gripping the base of the blade before throwing it with deadly accuracy at the other figure now coming out of the water. It catches Cashmere directly in the chest and he falls back, face contorting in blatant pain.

There's no time for surprise. Brutus and Enobaria have also joined the fray and are now ducking behind the cornucopia. We chase after them, but the Gamemakers apparently have other plans for us because suddenly we're spinning, flying around as the island moves. I dig my fingers into the sand and cling to it for dear life.

When it finally stops, I'm thrown back. It takes a moment to gather my surroundings, and by the time I do, Finnick has already swam out to collect Beetee, who's floundering twenty feet away in the water. And Katniss has begun to swim to Wiress' body to get the spool of wire before the hovercraft takes her.

Johanna busies herself by collecting our weapons. When she tosses me my knife, there's a strange look in her eyes. It's almost akin to admiration, but its gone before I can really see it.

I slip the knife into my belt and sit back down. My stomach is queasy, and my head hurts. I bury my face in my arms, but keep my eyes resolutely open because if I close them, I'll see the image of all those dead bodies around me.

After a while, Johanna grumbles, "Let's get off this stinking island." And Finnick and Katniss try to figure out which direction the clock is pointing in, because the spinning threw us off. Eventually, we just decide to walk toward one of the beaches.

I dawdle to the edge of the forest and peer into it. It seems harmless, but I feel something strange about the shift of the trees, like there's something hiding inside. Touching the bark of a towering tree, I lean against its cool surface and stare guardedly into the canopy.

"See anything?" asks Finnick, who appears beside me with the spile and a dagger. I glance over at him, but he's already turning to a nearby tree to collect water.

I shrug and mutter, "No…but I think there's some-" I'm interrupted by a scream. It's unfamiliar to me, but Katniss sees to recognize the voice because she gasps out, "Prim!" and then takes off into the woods. I linger for a split second before taking after her, Finnick just behind me. I don't want Katniss in these woods alone.

We find her standing in the middle of a small clearing, glaring fiercely and wiping her arrow clean with some moss. We barely get the chance to ask what happened before another scream filters through the trees, and the effect on Finnick is instantaneous. He jerks toward the direction of it, eyes wild with emotion and fright, and we have to run after him to keep up.

We find him scaling a large tree. The crazed look has not left his eyes, and all Katniss can do is draw another arrow. I'm slightly surprised to find that the target is a large bird. I'm also surprised that I seem to know what the bird is. "Jabberjay," I mutter, frowning. I know all about them. They mimic the voices of people…

Suddenly, a horrifying scream tears through our gasping silence. It's for me, I know it is, even before I can logically figure out who it is. My brain struggles to shift through the sound, but I already remember, strangely enough. I can see a face in my mind and I know who it is. His name hits me like a ton of bricks. For a moment, I'm not breathing. I've forgotten how to draw in air. I can see him, remember him, and I'm lost.

Before I can run towards the sound, however, Finnick and Katniss both grab me and I'm being forced back toward the beach. I struggle in an insane, wild way. I can hear myself telling them to let me go, because I _need_ to find him, to see if he's alright.

But they don't let me go and I stop struggling as his voice drowns out everything I know and everything I thought it was. I curl up beside Katniss and bury my head in my arms as I gasp for breath. Memories slam into me like crashing waves, taking down all my defenses and leaving me utterly bereft. I think I'm crying, because my face is all wet, but I don't care because I'm too focused on the images of blood and decay and death.

The effects of my withdrawal hits me square in the chest and intermingle with the memories. I'm shaking uncontrollably and I can't stop. As the Jabberjays begin to crowd around us atop the branches, there's nothing any of us can do but accept defeat and succumb to the frightening realization that everyone we love might very well be dead.

* * *

Somehow, I end up on the beach. My fingers are buried in the sand, and it's the only thing that grounds me to what has become my reality. I'm shaking horrifically, but it has less to do with the fright of the Jabberjays and more to do with the fact that I haven't had morphling in _days_.

I stare at the lapping blue waves of the ocean while the others count the bread and hand it out. When Finnick hands me my piece, he gives me a look that tells me that he knows what's going on with me. His knowledge doesn't exactly make me feel better.

I eat the bread, but my mind is in another world. There is a face wavering in my vision. Its not a hallucination. Its not even a memory. Its just a face that I can now name, and I want to cry in shame for ever forgetting it.

The sky darkens and we all eventually lay down for sleep. Katniss and Peeta volunteer for the first shift, but I can't make myself go to sleep because every time I close my eyes, a new image shoots through me. Now that I've brought down the wall blocking my memories, I suddenly want to forget again. I'm afraid of the new information.

I try to go to sleep when the two begin to talk, because I can tell that it's a private conversation, but I'm still drowning in fear and so I end up just laying there, eyes wide open as I stare continuously at the water.

For the most part, their voices are quiet whispers and I can't hear anything. But then Peeta says a little louder, "…I don't want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there's no life for me back in District 12. You're my whole life…I'd never be happy again." (351)

His words bring tears to my eyes. It's silly, I know, but I'm suddenly overcome by the desire to hear that from someone. Those words…they aren't for the camera. They're for Katniss herself, and no one else. I feel a little shamed that I heard them.

Their conversation breaks up a while later, and Finnick takes watch with Peeta. I continue to lay there, unmoving, and for some reason I can't reign in my tears as they race down my cheeks. I turn my face into my arms, shaking, and don't move until I hear someone shifting down beside me. Katniss.

She puts a hand on my back and I look up at her, shamelessly showing her my tears. The sight of them seems to surprise her a little. She lays down beside me and wonders in a near whisper, "Is it about…him?"

Haymitch. It was always about Haymitch, even when I couldn't remember him and didn't realize it. I take a shaky breath and nod, because there's no use lying and, if he's watching somewhere in the Capitol, I want him to know that I know.

This is what prompts me to continue. "I never thought I'd fall for someone like Haymitch. But, you know, love works in strange ways…"

This seems to catch her attention. She stares at me for a moment before asking, "How'd it happen?"

I glance at her, lips quirking up into a half smile, and say, "What, the process of falling in love? It started after I won my Games and became a Mentor. The first time I met him he was completely wasted and shouting at the TV…" I pause, trying to figure out how I remember such a menial thing, and then say, "…we had both turned to other means of survival back then. To him, it was alcohol; to me, it was morphling. But we found something in each other that made those things seem useless."

It was a friendship that had begun in such a haphazard way. Then, it was a stumble in the dark, a discovery of passion, and a yearly reunion that had turned sweeter with each meeting. Somewhere in the middle was the exchange of 'I love you's. And then, it was shattered by something the Capitol did…something about how no Victors should be as happy as we were. Only I don't remember the exact details of this shattering, except that the doctors began giving me more sedatives because I was going crazy.

Katniss smiles softly at me through the blanket of darkness. It is a bittersweet smile, because she probably realizes now that the return of my memories is useless. Because there can only be one winner…and it won't be me.

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**:D Hope you liked the new chapter~ The Arena Arc is coming to a close...which means that I'll be writing more about Haymitch ^o^ I think there'll be either one or two more chapters in the Arena so yeah**

**Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews! I got so excited to see that people actually read this haha love you guys xD**


	6. The Beginning of the End

**Hi again. So I apologize in advance, but this chapter is mostly a filler and, that being said, is stuffed with direct quotes from the book. Because it would look messy if I quoted every single thing I copied, I'll just put up a little disclaimer right here.**

**I do not own Catching Fire or any of the characters created by Suzanne Collins.**

**Okie~ Now enjoy :D**

* * *

**Poppies**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**The Beginning of the End**

* * *

I wake up with the morning sun shining directly in my face. For a while, I don't open my eyes. I can imagine myself in my apartment bed, with the curtains shoved aside and the brilliant poppies displayed at the window. I lose myself in the picture until I know I have to rise.

But when I do, nothing really happens. Katniss is still asleep beside me and the others are just hanging around. Finnick is weaving another net out of vines and Beetee is playing with his wire. I go over to the water and wade out a few feet, sinking my feet into the muddy sand and tilting my head back. The sun has not yet risen all the way, so its not that hot.

Its another half an hour before Katniss begins to stir. Just after she gets up a white parachute dawdles towards us, catching onto the breeze here and there before landing directly in Finnick's outstretched hand.

"Bread," he informs everyone, and sits down to count the loaves. There are 24, just like the day before. He hands them out to everyone and we all eat. After topping out meal off with a bit of water, everyone once again disperses.

Johanna flops down on the beach to nap, Katniss takes Peeta into the water on the pretense of teaching him to swim, Finnick goes back to his net, and Beetee to his wire. As for me, I keep away from the water because I don't want to interrupt Katniss and Peeta. I sit down close to the forest's shade and look into the lush green canopy above me. I pass the time by counting the leaves I see, but after one hundred and forty three, it gets old.

Its not long after that when Beetee calls us all to attention. His voices rings out and I get up to listen to him. "I think we all agree our next job is to kill Brutus and Enobaria," he says mildly. "I doubt they'll attack us openly again, now that they're so outnumbered. We could track them down, I suppose, but it's dangerous, exhausting work."

"Do you think they've figured out about the clock?" Katniss wonders, walking over to the small group we've formed.

Beetee shrugs, "If they haven't, they'll figure it out soon enough. Perhaps not as specifically as we have. But they must know that at last some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they're reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that out last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not have gone unnoticed by them. We know it was as attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena's a clock. So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap."

"Wait, let me get Johanna up," Finnick says. "She'll be rabid if she thinks she missed something this important."

When she joins us, Beetee shoos us all back a bit so he can have room to work in the sand. He swiftly draws a circle and divides it into twelve wedges. It's the arena, not rendered in Peeta's precise strokes but in the rough lines of a man whose mind is occupied by other, far more complex things. "If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?"

Peeta is the one to speak up. "Where we are now, on the beach."

Beetee hums, "So why aren't they one the beach?"

"Because we're here," Johanna says impatiently.

"Exactly," Beetee praises, "we're here. Claiming the beach. Now where would you go?"  
Close by, I think. Close enough to spy on them and observe the competition. Katniss and Finnick say this aloud, and Beetee continues, "Yes, good. You do see. Now here's what I propose: a twelve o'clock strike. What happens exactly at noon and at midnight?"

"The lightening," I murmur, furrowing my brow. Beetee nods and says, "Yes. The lightening hits the tree. So what I'm suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o'clock wave. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at that moment will be electrocuted."

I can hardly understand the complexity of his plan. My mind, which is still in the process of being cleared, grabbles with the intricacy of it and falters. When I look upon the other's faces, however, I see that they haven't yet come to terms with it either.

Questions are asked: Will the wire be strong enough? Will loosing a food source be worth it? Will it really kill the two Careers? And will we all be safe from it? Beetee responds to these in a manner adjacent to a schoolteacher, calmly answering each question until we decide that yes, this method is better than the exhausting process of tracking the Careers through the jungle.

Eventually we decide to scope out the lightening tree because Beetee wants to check it out before he rigs it. Its about time to leave our beach anyway, so we travel to it through the trees. We're almost there when Finnick volunteers Katniss to take the lead, because apparently she can hear force fields.

I frown at this, because one cannot simply 'hear' a force field. I vaguely remember a time of my life when I discussed something similar with someone…but then when I realize that it has to do with Haymitch and his Games, I force myself to think of other things. No use getting sappy for the cameras again.

When we reach the lightening tree, Katniss instructs us to stay behind it and not venture forward due to the force field. So we settle down and let Beetee do his thing while Katniss goes off to hunt.

She comes back with three of what she calls 'tree rats' and a bunch of nuts. While Peeta and her are preparing the meal (roasting them against the force field) Beetee breaks off a sliver of the tree and tosses it against the field as well. At first, its glowing a strange color, but then it turns back to normal. Beetee returns to the tree, mumbling slightly about it suddenly making much more sense, and we all begin our meal as we watch him continue.

When the eleven o'clock insects begin their cycle next door, we decide it would be best to move camp. So we travel to the next sector - the blood rain one - and bunker down in the jungle to wait for the lightening to signify twelve. Katniss watches it strike from far up in a tree, and tells Beetee of her findings after it is finished.

We make our way back towards the ten o'clock beach when the lightening is done and Beetee gives us the afternoon off while he figures out his next move and fiddles around with his wire. After napping in the shade, we decide to make a bit of a feast with the last remaining seafood we'll be able to gather. So we dive into the water and, under Finnick's guidance, collect all manner of food. By the time it's laying in a little pile on the beach, I can see oysters, shellfish, and various fish together.

We gorge ourselves until we cannot eat another bite, and then flop down on the beach for a small rest while we await the coming stroke of midnight.

* * *

Its around nine o'clock when we begin to make our way to the lightening tree. Finnick helps Beetee 'wire' the trunk, spinning the spool around and around and around the tree until its tangled up in yards of the wire. When Beetee tells us of the rest of the plan, Peeta isn't pleased because it means that Katniss and him will be split up. Her and Johanna are to bring the wire to the ocean, unraveling as they go, and make sure the spool sinks deep into the water before running as far away from it as possible. That means that Finnick, Beetee, and I will be staying together.

"It's alright," Katniss reassures him. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up."

"Not into the lightening zone," Beetee reminds her. "Head for the tree in the one-to-two o'clock sector. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage."

Johanna and Katniss go off together, and then we're alone, manning the tree. It's perfectly fine for a while. Beetee is double checking his plan, circling the tree to make sure that everything will work. Peeta and Finnick stand off to the side, stoic expression on their faces. Yes. Everything is fine until the wire suddenly goes slack, and then it all turns to chaos.

Beetee is jumping up immediately, eyes wide with more emotion than I've seen since the start of the Games. He snatches up the wire, muttering something that sounds like a swear word, and I know we're in danger by the dark look in his eyes.

Finnick is off, flying through the trees without another moment's hesitation. Peeta follows a moment later, bounding down the slope that Johanna and Katniss had taken not fifteen minutes before and leaving Beetee and I to stare open mouthed after him.

It's the sound of a canon firing a few minutes later that drags us out of our stupor. We share a meaningful look before the world is suddenly shifting into a muddled blur and I'm on the ground, clutching at my head as my body explodes in shivers. Did Beetee just hit me…? I can only open my eyes halfway, but I now he's gripping a knife and that I didn't just fall onto the ground for no reason. It has nothing to do with my withdrawal, either, because my head feels like its splitting open and morphling doesn't have that effect.

There is a sound of distress somewhere above me, but its so far away that it can't grasp it. All I know is that it's Beetee. Then my world shifts again and I'm gone. All I hear as I black out is the sound of Katniss' frantic voice calling out our names, and the disjointed shaking of what can only be her hands on our bodies. And then…an explosion.

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**:DDD Guess who's in the next chapter...? xD Believe me, I'm just about as excited as you guys probably are (Or at least, that would be the point of reading this, wouldn't it? haha) So I hope I didn't bore you guys with the boringness of this boring chapter, but it was sorta important to put in. And if you haven't read Catching Fire in a while, it refreshed your memory...and all that XD **

**I don't know when the next chapter will be out but I'll probably start it tomorrow and try to post it within the next 2-3 days. Thanks for the read~ And if you review, I'll try to get the next chapter out sooner..(nah, that's not a bribe or anything lolz)**


	7. Serene Abandonment

**Hi...sorry about not updating...it's a bad habit I have DX I've actually been sitting on this chapter for a long time trying to think of how to make it longer..but I finally decided that I should just post it and get to the other bits later since I seem to have issues with my inspiration at the moment.. Would have enjoyed answering some of the reviews but it's late and I want to sleep, so I'll do that in the next chapter~ **

**Oh, and I just wanted to clear some stuff up with my readers. I wanted to add a lemon scene in an upcoming chapter - maybe even more than one? - but I want to make sure everyone's comfortable with that. Let me know what you guys think. I really have no qualms about writing smut lol**

**Ok well I hope you guys like the new chapter even though it's insanely short. Feel free to review, especially if you're interested in that lemon idea~! :D**

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**Poppies**

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**Chapter 7**

**Serene Abandonment**

I feel like I'm floating before I even open my eyes. I'm numb and emotionless; cold and departed. Am I dead, then?

I feel like I should be. I can remember nothing except a brilliant flash of light and then unending darkness. I'm being succored into that darkness as it wraps around me and pulls me down. It takes every ounce of willpower to shake the evil, and then suddenly I'm gasping, inhaling a deep lungful of air as my eyelids flutter weakly.

At first, all I know is that the darkness is replaced by white. It is a sterile white, like the one in the Prep rooms that every Tribute has to enter to get ready for the arena. The thought makes me fly into a sitting position so fast that my head is suddenly spinning wildly and I can't see straight.

I'm in the Capitol then! Everything comes crashing back to me - the last day in the arena, the wire and the tree, Beetee's sharp gasp, the pain from the head wound, and Katniss' voice over my head before the terrifying explosion hits me and shoves me back.

I don't know exactly what happened, because my mind is still spinning and I can't find solid ground. I'm vaguely aware that I'm pulling IVs out of my arms and thrashing against the hospital sheets that pin me to the mattress.

All I can think about is how I'm in the Capitol. Something went wrong in the arena and now I've been picked up and will be tortured until I can't even see the poppies anymore. I feel fat tears welling up inside my eyes and somewhere near me, a loud beeping goes off. The stress is building up and people dressed in white robes are pushing me down onto my back. I struggle, gasp, snarl at them, but there's too many of them and I'm so weak. I feel a pinch in my arm and see another IV sticking into it.

The calm, deadly feeling of morphling enters my system. But this time, I'm not happy about it. Disgust curls my lip and I scream painfully just as I collapse from fright and abandonment.

* * *

The next time I wake up, I just lay there and stare up at the ceiling. I've been buckled to the bed. My wrists are bound to my sides and there's this big strap holding down my waist. This time, there's only one IV plugged into my arm.

I look around and am surprised to see Beetee and Katniss in the room with me. I would have thought that Katniss would be placed somewhere else, like a higher security room or even just thrown into the prison. But of course the Capitol would want to make sure she survives so that they can torture her themselves. I sink back down…and the sit back up a moment later when I realize that the buckles pinning down my wrists can easily be adjusted. And removed.

This confuses me. I would have thought the Capitol would have something more secure to keep me here. I struggle out of my binds and throw my legs over the bed. The floor is cold beneath the soles of my feet, and my legs can't really support my weight. I use the bed to stand, feeling as though I'll fall at any moment. When I take the first step forward, I do fall.

I sit on the ground for a minute and stare at Katniss' bed. Should I try to wake her up or just escape myself? Or is escape even a question? I doubt it, but I'm going to at least try.

I crawl over to where she lays and heave myself up so that I'm sitting beside her. Shaking her gently, I whisper her name. She looks awful. Her head has been bandaged and her arm is in a cast. There are bruises and scraps everywhere on her body.

Time is running out. I know she won't wake up, but I shake her harder because I'm afraid of being alone in this awful place. My eyes are spiking with tears and my voice is getting more and more frantic. Pretty soon, I'm shaking from…from what? Morphling? Fear? Maybe both.

I decide to run. I know I won't escape the clutches of the Capitol so easily but I need to at least try, because if I don't, I'll be miserable and alone and will just turn back to as much of that damned morphling as I can get my hands on.

I start to walk, stumbling toward the door on the other side of the room. Halfway there, my walk changes into a slow paced jog, and then a frantic run. I feel almost like I'm flying. The sound of my feet slapping the cold tiled floor thuds in my ears and matches the rugged beating of my heart as it smashes against my chest.

I'm panting, crying, gasping as I rush toward the door. My eyes are an untamed mass of wilderness framed by the equally messy strands of my hair. I'm almost there, my hand is reaching out to push the door open…but it opens of it's own accord before I can even reach it, and I'm suddenly crashing into someone and tumbling to the floor.

I don't see who it is because I'm wildly trying to get away from them. But I don't need to see them to know that it's a Peacekeeper, and that I'm going to be taken back to the hospital bed and knocked back out. I push them away, turning my eyes to what's outside the door, which is still open and has become a beacon of manifested hope.

Two arms are wrapping around my body and pulling me down. It isn't a hard grip, but rather somehow soothing. A voice that's almost familiar is speaking in my ear. "Sweetheart, sweetheart…"

I'm spinning back around and the world seems to lag behind as I stare into a familiar face. My eyes are wide open, shocked; my face contorts in disbelief. Haymitch?!

He is hovering over me, holding me down so that I can't move. Not that I'd move now anyway. I'm too surprised to even breathe.

But it's him. It's the same man that had shared my bed so many times; the same one who had inched his way into my heart, even though I never thought there'd be any room for someone there. Its him because I've never been drowned by someone's eyes before, until I met him, and now his gaze is pinning me down and crashing over me like water.

He stares at me in much the same manner that I'm staring at him. It's like he doesn't really believe I'm there, sitting beneath him. Like I'm not real. His eyes are unfocused and I can see the hint of worry in them.

"…H-Hay…mitch…" and then I'm crying and spluttering his name as it washes over my lips. I'm throwing my arms around him and sobbing against him, and the spell is broken as he pulls me carelessly to his chest and holds me there.

We're crying together now. I can feel his scalding tears hit the top of my head. He's trying to brush them away but I stop him, grabbing his wrists and staring at him. It's as though the world has stopped. Nothing is real anymore except him. Time is slipping through our fingers, so he stops that as well as he jerks in and catches my mouth with his.

And I'm lost. I'm floating like a piece of driftwood. My eyes slip closed for a moment, but then I open them because I can't bear not to see his face. We stare at each other and then the gentleness of the kiss dissolves and is replaced by what can only be described as raw passion. His arms fold around my shaking form and I'm brought against his chest. Our mouths move furiously, as though making up for all the time spent alone and forgetful.

My fingers slide into his hair and bring him ever closer, molding my lips to his. A sound slips from my throat - a helpless, satisfied sound - and seems to awaken something within him that has long been absent.

But before he can act upon it, there is a suddenly noise coming from the open door, and we are forced to break apart.

It is not a Peacekeeper and this is not the Capitol. I sigh in relief, and then realize how close Haymitch is to me. I blush a edge away from him, but he doesn't let me go. His arm is glued to my waist, a roguish grin touching his lips as he stares expectantly at the person above us.

"I wondered when you'd wake up, Miss Greenberg," the mystery man said. Actually, I vaguely remember him as the man who held that meeting about keeping the Mockingjay alive in the arena. His name pervaded me, but I know he can be trusted.

Haymitch scoffed, "Plutarch, we're a little busy." But the man just shrugged and smiled apologetically to me.

"Elaine, I'm sorry about this, but you're not to leave the hospital for a few days," he straightened his jacket. "It's about your…erm, addiction."

I give him a small smile and nod. I'm going to speak, but Plutarch cuts in and says, "Haymitch will explain everything to you. I'm sure you're…disconcerted, to say the least." And then he turned, closed the door, and left.

I turn to the man who's been on my mind these past few days and find him staring at me, a heavy look set in his eyes. Rather than asking him what's wrong, I begin to stand. He follows my lead and takes my arm, guiding me back to the bed. I don't really want to go, but I do want to hear what he has to say because the confusion has finally overrode the pleasure at seeing him, and I have no idea what's going on.

"You…should probably sit down," he tells me, and then begins to weave a long, well thought out story.

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**A/N: Sorry again for the shortness. Maybe lemon in the next chapter but there will most definitely be more HaymitchXOC interaction! I'm not sure when I'll be able to post again since college begins in just a few days, but when I have something written up I'll post some updates on my profile. It may be anywhere from a week to a month :\**


	8. Tilting

**It's been a while...a very very long while Dx This chapter is more filler than anything else and doesn't exactly have a direction. Actually, I don't have much of a direction for the entire story at the moment, which is why I haven't been updating. I don't really know what to say except that I DO want to write more for the story but can't tell you when it'll happen.**

**I'll try to update every month, but can't make any promises. DDD: One thing I'd really, REALLY appreciate would be if you guys had any ideas and wanted to share them with me! It might help with the lack of inspiration that I'm struggling with! I'd love any feedback, messages, or PMs that I get regarding the future of this story! ^_^'**

**Okie, so here's a ridiculously short chapter that has no purpose~**

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**Chapter Eight**

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The next morning, my eyelids flutter open and for a moment, I'm back in my little apartment in the Capitol. I glance to my right, half expecting to see a blur of red poppies outside my window, but instead I am met with something better.

Haymitch is sleeping, curled up around me in a way that the nurses probably aren't appreciating. They strut about Katniss and Beetee, giving me a clear berth as though to say they want little to do with me. I'm not insulted, but rather pleased. It means that Haymitch won't be forced to go.

I'm still weak, but somehow I manage to catch the strands of his hair and tumble my fingers through them. His arm has somehow found its way across my waist, and though I like him this close to me, the weight of it is hurting me. So I gently ease myself away from him a bit and continue to tug my fingers through his hair.

The conversation from the night before was still dawdling in my head, and as I stared up at the ceiling I begin to remember it. He told me of District 12 and why he is here, in what I now know to be District 13. Upon hearing this news, I hadn't been as surprised as Haymitch expected me to be. The lack of morphling from my system this past week has given me some strange sort of sight. Everything is clearer. Before, I had been watching the world through a blurry window, but now I am outside of it.

Haymitch shifts beside me, eyes fluttering open before he groans, throws his arm back over me, and closes his eyes again. I can't help the little gasp of pain as he pulls me closer, and he hears it before I can take it back.

"Elaine?" he's hovering above me before I can blink and I'm quickly trying to recompose my face. But it's too late. I know because the look in his eye is flared with a determination that knows no bounds.

"'M fine, Haymitch," I manage to mumble. Because I am. Better than fine, actually. I'm ten times better than I'd been yesterday, because of him.

He studies my expression a moment longer before nods and retreats. This time, he scuffles off the bed so as to give me more room and pulls up a chair. My hand reaches for his and he grips it firmly, grounding me.

I have so many questions to ask him. They are shifting through my head, cracking and pounding into what will probably become a headache. I sink back into the bed and try to make sense of my thoughts, but they are suddenly even more jumbled than they'd been before. It is the morphling?

It is. I know it is. I can feel the IV poking into the crease of my elbow and feeding me the poison. My eyes slid open and I reach for it, intent on pulling it out. Haymitch catches my other hand before I can.

"Don't," he tells me quietly. He scoots forward and holds both my hands with his, clasping them in a security that astounds me. "It'll help the pain."

I want to tell him that I can deal with the pain. I can deal with this pain a thousand times over, just don't subject me to the blurriness. Don't make me forget. But as soon as I look into his brilliant eyes, I'm lost. Lost in a blurriness that has nothing to do with the morphling.

A tender craving hits me hard. My eyes steal over his face and land on his mouth before darting back up to his eyes. If he knows the direction of my thoughts, he doesn't say anything about it. So I make up for the silence and whisper, "Kiss me, Haymitch." Kiss me, because the pain will stop if you do. Because the world will only get clearer.

He does. He leans forward immediately, as though he'd been waiting for me to ask, and presses his mouth gingerly to mine. For a moment, it is enough. But then the craving pulls harder and I'm tugging him closer, hands tangling into his hair and mouth moving deeper, with a passion that I thought I'd forgotten.

We are interrupted by a couple of nurses who tut at us as they pass, giving us slightly annoyed looks as they hurry to treat the others. Haymitch just grins crookedly at me and sinks back into his chair, hand clasping with mine again. And all I can think about is the look he is giving me, and has given me plenty of times in the past. His eyes turn dark, brooding into mine with promises that make my heart splutter in my chest. Promises that will have to be left unanswered for the time being. So I merely sigh and close my eyes, suddenly overcome by yet another emotion as it strains through my body. It is exhaustion, plain and powerful.

I grip Haymitch's hands harder and want to tell him to stay with me. That if I wake up to find him gone, I am afraid I'll forget again. But he reassures me without even saying a word, and takes my hands farther into his as he presses a gentle kiss against the knuckles.

"Sleep now," he whispers, his voice a cadence of admiration, and I do.

* * *

The world tilts sometimes. It moves without my permission, shifts without my notice. But when I do notice the change, I often do not care. Because the morphling would mix care with numbness, love with numbness, discomfort with numbness.

The world still tilts. It still moves and shifts and changes. But it comes with consequences that I still do not fully grasp, and it rather feels as though there is a constant film over my eyes, shading my vision from the outside world.

When the world tilts, it gives me headaches. Sometimes, I ache for hours. Sometimes, I beg for the morphling. But the nurses refuse to give it to me, only in very small doses to help me overcome the strong addiction I've worked up over the years. I'm told that that's why I'm still here, in the hospital, even though my wounds have mostly healed.

I find myself longing for poppies, for their familiarity, their safety. The redness of them, the softness of their petals, the strength they represent. So when the world starts to tilt and begins to throw me off balance, I try to focus on them. I try to imagine that I'm back in my apartment, leaning out of the window to water them. But in my vision, unlike every other, I am not alone.

Haymitch makes the world stop tilting. His hands force the contours of my sight to be grounded, huddled against the earth, conscious. Haymitch, when he is there, stops the clarity from disappearing. But he is not always there.

I know the nurses think me mad. I think myself mad, often. Because the things I say when I want the morphling frightens me. The cajoling that fills my desperate voice, the threats, the reasons why I need to forget, it makes me afraid.

But when the world tilts, I do not care. And when the world moves and shifts and changes, what I want most of all is not Haymitch, not freedom, but rather the blissful, muddy world that has been mine for over six years.

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**Told ya it was short :3 I'll love you all forever if you let me know if this story is good enough to continue~**


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